Chapter Text
The moment that Fang Duobing later came to think of as the one that completely ruined his life took place on a very beautiful day three months after Qingming. Broad, green leaves were beginning to crackle and dry from the heat of midsummer. Morning’s low-laying mist had cleared, and the sun shone warm across his face as he hurried to Lotus Tower. His arms were full of groceries picked up at the market of Zhufan Village, which boasted plentiful vegetables but meager traces of the lead he had sought–vegetables that he was definitely not going to let Li Lianhua disrespect this time.
He was so preoccupied with his musings on how to keep Li Lianhua out of the bok choy (as lately he was so intent on cooking it down to a slimy death) that he failed to notice the presence of another until he was almost at the tower steps. He stilled, grip on the grocery bag slipping when he recognized Di Feisheng’s voice, unusually low and intent.
“Let’s do it again.”
“Lao Di, are you serious?” Fang Duobing, whose hackles had risen at the growl in Di Feisheng’s voice, relaxed slightly when he recognized Li Lianhua’s calmest drawl. Not an actual problem then, hopefully. Fang Duobing shook his head. A-Fei really had a way of making the most inconsequential thing sound like life or death. He probably just lost another game of weiqi or something. Typical.
“Do I look like I’m not serious?”
“Well—” there was a sudden, odd hitch in Li Lianhua’s voice. Fang Duobing frowned. Had Li Lianhua caught another cold? He’d been doing better since they found him in the spring, bundled up in that white coat against whatever chill the sea winds thought to bring him, but recovery was slow and he still took ill far too easily. Di Feisheng had better not be pressing him.
“Well?” Di Feisheng rumbled.
“Ah,” Li Lianhua said, now sounding short of breath. “Well, if Di-Mengzhu is recalling the sweet promises we made to one another after drinking the wedding wine then I guess…”
Fang Duobing froze. The what promises made to who after the what?
“Shut up,” Di Feisheng said, and then there was the sound of something muffled and, and wet?
Fang Duobing had heard enough. He rushed the remaining steps towards the tower and burst through the door, paying no mind to the dangerous tilt of the bag in his arm or the vegetables slipping out and scattering in his wake. “What are you doing to him?” he snapped at Di Feisheng as soon as he was inside. “You’d better not—”
“Ah, Xiaobao, back already?” Li Lianhua straightened from where he was leaning against the wall next to the table. His cheeks were a bit flushed, but he seemed generally unharmed. “Lao Di was just asking about you.”
Fang Duobing turned. Di Feisheng was on the other side of the table. He appeared very normal, not even attacking Li Lianhua a little bit. Not even touching him, in fact.
Di Feisheng turned up his nose at Fang Duobing, which was even more normal. “I was not asking about you.”
This, too, was normal.
“Lao Di was just helping me with my meridian repair,” Li Lianhua said briskly. He brushed off his clothes. “His Windy Poplar has a knack for restructuring.” He brought his hands together and gave a little bow to Di Feisheng, who snorted.
“But,” said Fang Duobing.
“My Poplar is very strong,” Di Feisheng said flatly. “It’s good. Li Lianhua likes it.”
“Not as good for healing as Yangzhouman!” Fang Duobing retorted automatically, which was how he missed Li Lianhua kicking Di Feisheng in the shins beneath the table. To his credit, Di Feisheng’s face didn’t even twitch.
“Anyway,” Li Lianhua said, now stepping between them. He held out his arms as if for the groceries, which Fang Duobing of course did not give him, discreetly moving to block several fallen cabbages. Li Lianhua clucked his tongue, impatient. “Come on, Fang Xiaobao. Hand them over. Did you get the fish I asked for?”
“I always get what you ask for.” Fang Duobing said, only a little petulant. He still did not hand the groceries over, instead putting the bag on the table and pulling out the surviving packages himself. He bet Di Feisheng wouldn’t know how to select complementary greens for carp! “Including the carp, yes. And candy.” He fished it out of his sleeve, triumphant. “See?”
Take that, Di-Mengzhu! This young master was a superior provider. A superior caretaker. He would make a superior husband, even!
…wait.
“Xiaobao?” Li Lianhua was looking at him, a furrow of concern etched into his brow.
“What?” Fang Duobing said, a bit faintly. His arm was still outstretched, holding the candy loosely in one fist.
“I said,” Li Lianhua repeated, “I’ll take one.” He put out his hand. Fang Duobing stared at him for another moment, taking in the light blush still on Li Lianhua’s cheeks, the slight disarray of his clothes and, behind him, Di Feisheng standing with his arms crossed, looking even more annoyed (annoying) than usual, his hair…
Di Feisheng’s hair was mussed, pulling to the side. It almost looked as if someone had been clutching it or—or—running their fingers through it or—or—
But Di Feisheng always looked impeccable, clothes and hair included. It was part of what made him so irritating. But then, who else would dare touch his hair? Even mess it up!
…the sweet promises we made to one another after drinking the wedding wine…
Oh no. No. Fang Duobing felt his lips part in surprise. He looked at Li Lianhua again, then back to Di Feisheng, then back to Li Lianhua, whose expression had taken on a shade of actual, honest worry.
“Fang Xiaobao? Xiaobao?”
“Um,” said Fang Duobing. He met Li Lianhua’s guileless gaze, mind racing. Had Di Feisheng deflowered his shifu while Fang Duobing was away? What?
No, no. Impossible. Absolutely ridiculous. The very notion and idea was completely absurd. And even if they had (which was insane), Fang Duobing would definitely have been told about such a—well. Development. Surely?
Definitely.
Fang Duobing let the candy drop in Li Lianhua’s open palm. “Here.”
Li Lianhua smiled at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Good boy,” he said. “Thanks.”
Not really understanding why, Fang Duobing felt his whole body flush.
#
While Fang Duobing served the fish soup that he had so painstakingly prepared to Li Lianhua and, more begrudgingly, to Di Feisheng, he couldn’t help but observe carefully. As far as he could tell, there was nothing unusual. Li Lianhua even ate an extra half bowl of the soup, which made Fang Duobing so pleased that he didn’t even protest Di Feisheng’s third bowl.
“Fang Xiaobao,” Li Lianhua said, fingers gently unclasping his spoon one after another then tapping the table in a gentle drumbeat. “You’re staring.”
“What? No, I’m not!”
“You are.” Di Feisheng didn’t even bother to set down his spoon, just continued tucking away into the hard-earned meal that he hadn’t even bothered to help with. Fang Duobing glared at him.
“Hmm, something wrong?” Li Lianhua patted his mouth with a cloth. He and Di Feisheng exchanged a look that for some reason made Fang Duobing feel a bit… odd.
No.
“N–no,” Fang Duobing said quickly. He picked up his own bowl and gulped down a mouthful, wincing as the hot soup scalded his throat. He swallowed and said, “Nothing’s wrong. I just, I’m just glad to see you eating more, Li Lianhua.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Di Feisheng smirking at him.
“Ah,” Li Lianhua said. His lips tilted up, his eyes flickering back down to his plate. “Well, Fang-gongzi is such an accomplished chef, how could this lowly doctor not take advantage of the opportunity?”
Trust Li Lianhua to take his health so lightly. “Li Lianhua,” Fang Duobing complained, feeling put out. “You barely ate anything those first weeks, but now you’ll even take two bowls. Shouldn’t I feel glad?”
Li Lianhu’s gaze skittered away and then, after a moment, back to Fang Duobing. “I am feeling better today,” he admitted in a rare show of honesty. There was something unusually gentle in it. “Thank you, Xiaobao.”
Fang Duobing swallowed and nodded.
“Three months and the state of your meridians is still atrocious.” Di Feisheng let his spoon clatter into his empty bowl. Fang Duobing wondered how much it would take to bribe one of his mother’s retainers to teach the head of the Jinyuan Alliance some basic table manners. It would, he concluded sadly, be far above anything Baichuan Court would ever pay him. “Let me do Windy Poplar again.” He grabbed Li Lianhua’s wrist.
“Aiyo Lao Di,” Li Lianhua said, yanking it away. “Stop that. Just adding more sticks around a trellis isn’t going to make things any sturdier. You have to let my body do some of the work.”
Di Feisheng squinted at him. “That’s not what you said the last time we–”
In an exhilarating display of the former Li Xiangyi’s speed and grace, Li Lianhua reached around and smacked Di Feisheng on the back of the head. Di Feisheng rocked forward then righted himself, turning to scowl at Li Lianhua.
Fang Duobing stared.
“Be quiet, Lao Di,” Li Lianhua said, two inexplicable spots of bright red on his cheeks. “Honestly, this is a meal. No one should be chatting. So uncouth.”
“Unbelievable,” Di Feisheng muttered, as Li Lianhua very deliberately turned his attention back to his bowl and proceeded to eat while making eye contact with absolutely nobody.
Unnerved, Fang Duobing followed suit.
The sleeping arrangements were thus: Fang Duobing upstairs. Li Lianhua downstairs. Di Feisheng…
“I’m leaving.”
“Great,” said Fang Duobing, who had not been looking forward to sharing the upstairs with ‘A-Fei’ again.
“If you must,” Li Lianhua said, suspiciously agreeable.
“Mm.”
#
Fang Duobing couldn’t say what awoke him in the dead of night, only that he was distracted and disquieted and hadn’t at all slept well. Or, he had slept just fine, until his mind began manifesting ideas that could only be described as disrespectful, if not depraved. Ideas about Li Lianhua as he laid awake, counting sheep. Ideas he could not forget as the quiet dark dragged on outside and nothing was heard in Lotus Tower.
Except.
Except the wind was sneaking in periodically through the carved door frames and into the floorboards. It wasn’t a persistent howl but a periodic, methodical shift of ambient sound–just enough to distract himself from visions of Li Lianhua leaning against the table, against the wall, hand outstretched and reaching, with a hitch in his voice and his hair looser than usual.
It would be enough to distract him if he couldn’t imagine quite so clearly that voice exhaling sharply to the rhythm of the wind moving through Lotus Tower’s beams as the night wore on, or if one thing hadn’t led to another and now the Li Lianhua leaning against the wall had somehow lost a shoulder’s worth of robe, collarbone exposed and face flushed to the neck. Fang Duobing tried valiantly to not think about that outstretched hand pressed against his side, against his hips, about pressing his full body against Li Lianhua and feeling every inch of him alive with anticipation, or hearing a low murmur of something that might have been “good boy.” He desperately avoided imagining pressing his face into the crevice of Li Lianhua’s neck and breathing in, latching on with his mouth and eliciting gasps one after another in a rhythm just like–
Fang Duobing jerked upward, overbalancing as both ends of him tried to escape the fantasy and falling out of bed with an ungainly thump.
He lay on the ground, hearing only the pounding of his own heart and a buzz in his ears, thoughts racing, all hope of sleep entirely banished.
Minutes passed, and the wind was quiet. Fang Duobing lay still until the first traces of dawn entered the upper level and the glow was just enough to slip outside and practice the latest section of Xiangyi swordplay footwork that eluded him lately. Staying light on his feet through the tricky steps was difficult enough that all other thoughts finally left him at peace, for the moment.
Side step, side step, pivot, jump—
“The jump is sloppy,” commented a voice behind him. Launching prematurely in surprise, Fang Duobing’s second jump gained significantly more air than initially intended. After an abrupt landing he twisted around to see Di Feisheng leaning comfortably against a tree, arms crossed, watching him.
“A-Fei!” Fang Duobing pointed his sword at him. “What did you do that for?” A thought occurred to him and he frowned. “Did something happen? I thought you left last night.”
“Nothing happened. I just decided to come back.” When Fang Duobing gave him a very dubious look, Di Feisheng shrugged. “Does it matter? I’m here. Your left foot was misplaced.” A pause. “You’re welcome.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that!” Fang Duobing shook his sword at him, successfully distracted. He then lowered it. “Where exactly was it sloppy,” he muttered.
“Here.” Di Feisheng stepped closer and then did an extremely passable example of the exact footwork Fang Duobing had been struggling with. “Your balance is off between the pivot going into the jump.” He demonstrated. “Here. That makes the timing wrong.” He tilted his head. “Sloppy.”
“Huh,” Fang Duobing said slowly. Di Feisheng was right, of course, which was infuriating, but… “Like this?” He went through it again. The landing did feel smoother, more of a float than a fall. He let out a breath and turned to see Di Feisheng’s reaction.
“Mm,” Di Feisheng said. “Better than before. Could still improve.” His eyes were focused in a way that Fang Duobing had only ever seen them when martial arts were involved.
Or when Li Lianhua was involved said a horrifying little voice inside Fang Duobing’s head. He blanched and immediately opened his mouth, hoping whatever emerged would eliminate all thoughts of this very unwelcome topic. “You must have watched his Xiangyi Swordplay footwork very closely to be able to tell,” emerged without his bidding, which was just about the worst way possible to distract from the entire concept of Li Lianhua.
Di Feisheng raised a cool eyebrow. “I always watch my opponents closely.” Something in his expression shifted. “Especially Li Xiangyi.”
“Ah.” Fang Duobing’s throat felt tight for a second, like there was a hidden pressure on his windpipe.
“His Xiangyi swordplay was one-of-a-kind,” Di Feisheng told him, like Fang Duobing was not already extremely aware of this basic fact. “Of course I watched him. You would do well to watch him too.”
Very unhelpful, A-Fei, thank you, thought Fang Duobing, who had spent a not-insignificant part of the past night and also this morning doing his level best to not think about Li Lianhua and especially about watching him. He sighed, sheathing his sword. “I’m going to start breakfast. He’ll be up soon.”
Di Feisheng wrinkled his nose. “He should be practicing, not lazing.”
“He’s still recovering! He needs the rest.”
“Hm. Lazy.”
“He’s still not going to fight you,” Fang Duobing said snootily, leading the way up the steps of Lotus Tower. Inside, they found Li Lianhua already awake. He nodded at them as they came in, Huli Jing’s tail thumping at his feet, but said little else, appearing content to huddle in a blanket while seated at the table and enjoy his tea.
To Fang Duobing’s further unease, Li Lianhua mentioned nothing about Di Feisheng’s unexpected presence that morning at all.
Li Lianhua also did not seem surprised a few minutes later when Di Feisheng, en route past the table and over to the kettle, dropped one hand onto his shoulder and squeezed. Fang Duobing stirred the pot of congee a little too forcefully and told himself firmly that after weeks of treatments involving a significant quantity of manhandling on Di Feisheng’s part—up to and including picking up a protesting Li Lianhua like a limp doll and tossing him into a hot bath before applying Windy Poplar to prop up his collapsed meridians—Di Feisheng was entitled to a little casual touch and Li Lianhua was very reasonable not to pay undue attention to it. Fang Duobing could empathize; he too sometimes needed to pat Li Lianhua down or feel the pulse in his wrist, just for the reassurance that he was alive.
Fang Duobing decided that this sort of interaction was acceptable, even though Di Feisheng’s hands were very large and strong compared to Li Lianhua’s slim shoulders and looked, maybe a little, like they might break him.
The hand on Li Lianhua’s shoulder left its perch to trail across the back of Li Lianhua’s neck. Li Lianhua let out a little noise, definitely not something like a low moan. “A-Fei,” he murmured.
Fang Duobing splashed himself in the face with hot congee.
#
Later, face washed, salve applied by an exasperated Li Lianhua, and clothes exchanged for a set that didn’t have porridge stains down the front, Fang Duobing made his way alone to Zhufan Village, to continue with the investigation that had brought them here in the first place.
Entering the market, Fang Duobing found everything more festive than his first pass through. No matter where his eyes turned, the village was in the thick of preparing for a wedding of some importance. Unsure whether this new development would help or hinder his investigation, he took his time wandering the stalls and shops, cataloging new faces and changes wrought to the town’s layout by the decorations.
By the time he arrived at the local eatery, he knew several new facts. The young groom was the recently returned Lord Liu’s son (conveyed with heartfelt sighs by several produce-slinging aunties well past middle age). The bride was also recently returned to her parents’ house, and the marriage announcement was sudden. A local beauty and bright talent herself, no one knew exactly what had brought her home from her travels and inspired her to marriage.
It was always too suspicious when unexpected local events just happened to coincide with an investigation, in Fang Duobing’s admittedly still-limited experience. Lucky for him, the local loudmouths were truly out in force by now, several already in their cups. Fang Duobing picked his way across the restaurant’s cheerful interior to a table next to a group of five lively fellows calling for more wine.
“Ah, why don’t you cheer up!” one gray-beard admonished, finger wagging across the table toward a younger man sporting a hangdog look. “It’s all very well to live in hope but you must admit now that Miss Wang always had her sights set higher.”
“By the way–how do you know her? As your closest friend, I’m truly hurt I never knew you were so close!” Fang Duobing poured his tea to the sound of widespread indignant agreement.
“It was the mid-autumn festival six years ago… she dropped this ribbon. I’ve been waiting to return it to her and now–now I shall never have the chance!”
“Surely that can’t be it.”
“Surely not, no.”
“What of it? When she turned to me and, seeing I had her token, danced away into the moonlight–she carried my heart away! She gazed upon me and knew my very soul! I have been a changed man ever since!”
“So you have…” The speaker trailed off into polite coughing.
Another slammed his cup down more vigorously, causing a distinct rattle. “You have never spoken?”
“What we had was beyond words. Young Master Liu will never appreciate her like I do, he does not have the heart of an artist!”
Disbelieving snorts echoed from the rafters. Fang Duobing’s food arrived.
“And come to think of it, none of you will ever understand either!”
“I hate to break it to you since we are such good friends, but I think this other fellow might be able to offer her other things. Even though your relationship was so, so metaphysical.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“And surely it wouldn’t be everything, if you were two meters tall with arms more suited to wielding a sword than a clerk’s brush.”
“That’s true, true enough if I remember well, the young master’s legs are nearly as tall as the lady’s decolletage.”
“Ho, yes, and surely he has a—a weapon to match!” Fang Duobing’s ears began to burn amid the hooting and table thumping to his left.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Don’t be upset, it’s only reality. An adventuring pair like those two are well matched. If you don’t believe me, have a drink at Liu Manor to celebrate on the wedding night! Mark my words, the pair of them will shake the rafters.”
“Shake the whole town, more like.” Did people have no other topics on their minds?
“A stiff breeze could shake your house well enough, Lao Pei.”
“This isn’t about a stiff breeze, it’s about a stiff—”
“Waiter!” called Fang Duobing frantically. This wasn’t at all going to plan.
“Now, my neighbor’s brother’s cousin was employed by House Wang at the time of her parents’ marriage, and from what I hear the young lady has some reputation to live up to. Lucky for her, I hear that house spares no expense on fine things to make the special night go easier, if you understand me.”
Fine oils, thought Fang Duobing against his will. Fine oils and the unstoppable vigor of two adventuring types on their wedding night—
Fumbling for his coin purse, Fang Duobing rose clumsily enough to hit his knee against the table and send a plate tumbling to the floor, food entirely untouched. He threw too much money down and definitely did not run out the door.
—shaking the house in the throes of passion—
Fang Duobing dunked his head in the first stream he found on the way back to Lotus Tower, but the chilly shock did nothing to stop the full-color images of Li Lianhua discarding a wedding robe, of a tall man pulling vials out of a finely carved box, pressing Li Lianhua onto his back and reaching down—
Fang Duobing drew his sword, leaped into the sky, and began hacking at tree branches with truly unnecessary vigor.
Several hours later and well into the evening, a sweaty, disheveled, and dirty Fang Duobing gathered up several armfuls from an enormous, scattered pile of questionably green firewood and began the march back to Lotus Tower, still plagued with truly humiliating imaginings of Li Lianhua in all sorts of states, but now too tired to do anything to prevent it. As he trudged, the tree branches smearing green and brown across the front of his robes, he tried his best to let his mind wander to purer paths. Unfortunately, the entire concept of purer paths only led him in the direction of martial arts in general and from there to the Xiangyi Swordplay in particular, leading inevitably back to Li Lianhua himself, which defeated the entire point of the exercise.
Perhaps, Fang Duobing postulated as he sighted Lotus Tower, a shadow against the light of the rising moon, his mother was correct and he should consider investing in a hobby that had nothing at all to do with the Jianghu or anything related to Li Lianhua.
But then again…
It was the unmistakable noise of a dog in distress that yanked him back to the present. At the sound, Fang Duobing felt a chill at odds with the warm evening around him. The last time he had heard Huli Jing so upset, he had just returned to Lotus Tower buoyed on slim hope that Guan Hemeng and his needles could do something—anything—to shore up Li Lianhua’s clearly failing body until Fang Duobing made his Yangzhouman stronger or better or something. For the several heart-stopping seconds it took Fang Duobing and Guan Hemeng to reach Lotus Tower on that day, he had been sure he would open the door to find Li Lianhua dead.
The reality—that Li Lianhua had disappeared with the full intention of actually finishing the dying part later, abandoning his life’s work and also his dog to Fang Duobing—had not been much better.
So when Fang Duobing strode up the road and into sight of Lotus Tower, the sound of Huli Jing’s distressed whining at the front door caused all thoughts of the restaurant and its unfortunate confluence of wedding well-wishers and rumor-mongers to immediately vanish, replaced by a soul-deep and unshakable fear.
Fang Duobing dropped the firewood and broke into a run.
When he reached the door he stilled for a moment. If he opened that door and Li Lianhua… no. Fang Duobing gave himself a shake. It did not bear thinking about. Swallowing, he took a deep breath, placed his palm on the weather-worn wood, and gave it a shove.
Before the door was even halfway opened, Huli Jing, who had ceased to whine as soon as Fang Duobing had shown up and whose tail was now wagging, had already squeezed through the crack between the door and the frame. By the time Fang Duobing opened the door enough to follow and face whatever awaited him inside, Huli Jing had already crossed the entirety of Lotus Tower to jump onto Li Lianhua’s bed and begin licking Li Lianhua’s face. In response to this onslaught, Li Lianhua sleepily batted away the offender without opening his eyes, turning over and pulling the covers over his head.
The sheer relief at seeing Li Lianhua alive and well (napping just as he had been instructed to, even!), was so great that Fang Duobing momentarily felt a wave of dizziness wash through him, leaving his knees unsteady and his heart still pounding. Letting out a long exhale, he propped himself against the table and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he noticed something else:
The dog was not the only interloper in Li Lianhua’s bed
At just that moment, Huli Jing managed to get her snout between Li Lianhua’s defensive covers and was snuffing enthusiastically at Li Lianhua’s neck. Li Lianhua let out a long groan and scrunched himself up even further. “Lao Di, would you stop that?”
“’M not doing anything,” came an equally irate mutter from the lump on Li Lianhua’s other side. The lump in question sat up, covers falling from his chest, and opened his eyes before scooping the dog away from Li Lianhua and off the bed. He then turned toward the door and a very hot-faced Fang Duobing, standing upright mostly by the grace of the table at this point, unable to do anything but stare at the scene with a mix of outrage and confusion. “Oh,” said Di Feisheng. He yawned. “It’s you.”
Fang Duobing found himself able to move again. He promptly clapped one hand over his eyes and used the other to point an accusing finger at the feared leader of the Jinyuan Alliance. “Why are you naked?” he screeched in sotto voce.
“I’m wearing pants,” came the flat response as Li Lianhua also sat up and said, still sounding half-asleep,
“Fang Xiaobao?”
Fang Duobing allowed himself to take a peek. Unlike some, Li Lianhua’s bare chest was not exposed to the evening air, but the single layer of his zhongyi had absolutely slipped off his narrow shoulders, displaying to advantage the length of his neck and quite a bit of collarbone. At the sight, Fang Duobing’s mouth suddenly went dry and his mind was once more awash with his distressing preoccupation of that afternoon. He immediately shut his eyes again.
“What is going on?” Fang Duobing tried not to make it into a shout, but was not very successful. He also felt a strange prickling at the corner of his eyes. “What…”
“Are you an idiot? We’re—”
“Cultivating,” interjected Li Lianhua smoothly, now sounding much more awake. “You can open your eyes, Xiaobao,” he added. “Di-Mengzhu is decent.”
“None of this is decent,” Fang Duobing sulked, though he did open his eyes. Di Feisheng was now indeed fully clothed, standing next to the bed dealing with his belt, while Li Lianhua had pulled his own robe shut, which Fang Duobing absolutely did not feel a pinprick of disappointment about.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Xiaobao,” Li Lianhua told him briskly, setting his feet on the floor. “A-Fei gave me so much—ah, energy—that after treatment we both just fell asleep, that’s all.”
“After treatment,” Fang Duobing echoed.
“Right.”
“He—”
“I did.”
Fang Duobing’s eyes flicked over to Di Feisheng, who seemed to be radiating even more smugness than usual. His previous ire immediately rushed back tenfold. “Why were you naked?” he demanded again.
“I wasn’t naked.”
“You know what I mean!”
“It’s a variation of Windy Poplar,” Li Lianhua said. “Requires some skin-to-skin contact, but it’s very effective.”
“Exceptionally effective,” Di Feisheng put in. Li Lianhua shot him a look.
Fang Duobing did not find any of this reassuring at all, despite how calmly Li Lianhua was intent on explaining it. A new technique? Cultivation? Something was not adding up. He peered at them suspiciously. “Why didn’t you tell me about this technique before?”
“I don’t remember being obligated to tell you the names of all my techniques.” Di Feisheng finished belting his clothes and began to neaten his hair. “It’s for Li Lianhua’s treatment. Why do you need to know?”
Fang Duobing gaped at him. “I’m also invested in his treatment!” he snapped, unaccountably furious. “We’ve been through this! Didn’t we agree we were all in this together?”
For some bizarre reason and most likely, Fang Duobing thought darkly, because Di Feisheng was a very bizarre person, this response did nothing but make Di Feisheng look amused. The corners of his mouth even twitched up. “See?” he said, turning to Li Lianhua, who was sitting very still. “He’s said it himself: he’s invested.”
“Di Feisheng,” Li Lianhua hissed. He pulled his robes more tightly around his body. “Xiaobao—”
“What is it called?” Fang Duobing said.
“Xiao—what?”
“His new cultivation technique.” Fang Duobing jerked his head in Di Feisheng’s direction. “This new variation of Windy Poplar. What is it called?”
“It’s called, um…”
“Virile Poplar,” said Di Feisheng while at the exact time Li Lianhua said,
“Spring Poplar.”
There was a very long pause. Li Lianhua cleared his throat.
“Virile Spring Poplar.”
There was a second, even longer pause.
“Virile Spring Poplar,” Di Feisheng repeated with zero inflection, with Li Lianhua on his other side looking like the entire phrase was causing him acute suffering.
Unable to look at either of them, Fang Duobing closed his eyes. “I’m going to go retrieve that firewood,” he said, and pivoted on his heel before either of them could open their mouths to spew out anything worse.
#
Later that night, Fang Duobing found himself perched on the roof of Lotus Tower, drinking baiju out of the jar and thinking morosely about all the signs pointing to the insane conclusion that celebrated rivals Li Xiangyi and Di Feisheng may have actually gotten married.
May have actually gotten married and didn’t tell him, Fang Duobing thought, and gulped more wine. May have actually gotten married and didn’t tell him and were now hiding it? Fang Duobing sniffed, rubbed his chest, and reached for his second jar.
He tilted his head upward, let his eyes run from the shadows surrounding Lotus Tower, through the treetops, and up to the startlingly bright moon. It was so beautiful. So alone, except for one star shining valiantly nearby, up in the clear cold night sky. Tears pooled in Fang Duobing’s eyes as the wine swam down his throat. He breathed in through his nose and felt his head swim.
The sound of wood creaking and the swish of a heavy white coat against the slats alerted him that he was no longer the only person on the roof.
“Aiyo, Fang Xiaobao. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to drink alone?” Settling his coat more firmly around his shoulders, Li Lianhua took a seat next to him. Fang Duobing choked a little and wiped his mouth.
“I don’t need to hear that from you.” His lips felt fuzzy. Were they still a little wet? He lifted his hand and stalled, eyes fixed on the man at his side. Li Lianhua’s face was all shadows but Fang Duobing knew every line of his mouth, every angle that showed his affection or his scorn.
A hand snaked out from beneath the white coat and snagged the jar of wine out of Fang Duobing’s grasp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only ever drink with company.”
“The dog doesn’t count.”
“Brat.” Li Lianhua took a drink of wine and smacked Fang Duobing’s knuckles when he tried to take it back. “How much have you had?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Fang Duobing muttered.
“Xiaobao.” Li Lianhua’s voice was unusually severe. “Don’t say that. Of course it matters.”
Against his will, Fang Duobing sniffed again. Annoyed, he dashed his hand across his eyes. “What about Di Feisheng?”
Li Lianhua sighed. “What about Di Feisheng?” he said, clearly exasperated. “Di Feisheng is Di Feisheng and Fang Xiaobao is Fang Xiaobao. Di Feisheng is out cold taking up more than his fair share of the bed and I’d rather Fang Xiaobao didn’t fall off the roof in a drunken stupor. Now, will you just tell me what’s wrong, ah?”
Stricken, Fang Duobing turned to look at him. “He’s in your bed?”
“Huh?” Li Lianhua finished swallowing. “Of course he is. I wasn’t going to drag him upstairs to yours.” He blinked. “Is that what’s the matter? Xiaobao, I thought you didn’t like sharing with him.”
“That’s not—!” The words stuck in his throat. Fang Duobing looked away. “You never tell me anything.”
“Fang Xiaobao! Who has seen my most miserable self if not you, hmm?” Li Lianhua rotated the wine jar in his hands. “What’s between Di Feisheng and me…it’s not a competition with you, all right? It doesn’t–it doesn’t affect what we have between us, all right?” Lips twisting wryly, Li Lianhua brought the wine jar back to his mouth.
“But,” Fang Duobing said, plaintive, “you never even told me you got married!”
Li Lianhua spat out the wine. “What?” he yelped, which set off a coughing fit. Concerned, Fang Duobing patted him on the back until Li Lianhua got his breathing back under control. “What?” Li Lianhua repeated, much more hoarsely this time. “You think we got what?”
“You and Di Feisheng got married,” Fang Duobing said, though with a touch more uncertainty this time. “And you’ve been—” words failing him, he blushed red and gestured, “—all over Lotus Tower when I’m not here and, and—”
“Unbelievable,” Li Lianhua said, rubbing his temples. “Is this what’s been bothering you all day? Di Feisheng and I are not married. Wherever did you get such a preposterous idea?”
At Li Lianhua’s words, Fang Duobing felt both a flood of intense relief and, on its heels, intense embarrassment. He said, looking down and tracing wordless patterns across the whorls of the wood. “I overheard you talking about drinking wedding wine together,” he admitted. “You said…”
Li Lianhua groaned. “That was Jiao Liqiao’s wedding wine,” he said. “We were hiding in her wedding suite.”
“Oh.” Fang Duobing suddenly felt inexplicably lighter. “So…you’re not married? You’re not, um.”
“I have not had nearly enough wine for this conversation.” Li Lianhua slowly unfolded and stood. He extended a hand and Fang Duobing allowed himself to be pulled up. “Di Feisheng and I did not marry each other and then honeymoon in Jiao Liqiao’s newlywed suite. Absurd boy. Now get off the roof, Fang Xiaobao, I need more wine to deal with this shock, and I know you know the good stuff is downstairs. Come on, let’s go.”
Feeling much better about the state of the universe in general, Fang Duobing allowed himself to be coaxed back down to the first floor, where Li Lianhua was already digging into his collection of vintages. In the bed off to the side, Di Feisheng was snoring lightly, sprawled inelegantly across the full diagonal of the mattress, Huli Jing cuddled up against his hip. For once, Fang Duobing found it easy to ignore him.
Li Lianhua placed the new jar at the table, then selected a pair of slightly lopsided ceramic cups that Fang Duobing recognized as having been purchased at extreme discount from what was clearly a young apprentice’s first collection of pottery.
It was not until much later that night, tucked in bed and drowsing, with a head pleasantly heavy and full of wool from Li Lianhua’s secret stash, that Fang Duobing realized that Li Lianhua had only denied being married to Di Feisheng and had not in fact addressed at all any of Fang Duobing’s accusations relating to other activities.
But with the heat of Li Lianhua’s attention still enveloping him, that no longer meant so much at all.